


bang! now we're even

by Authoress



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, akaashi shoots at bokuto while wearing a dress what more do you want, crossdressing as a cover, incredibly creative undercover names, konoha and kuroo for sassy techs, marrito, no this isn't casino royale what are you talking about, non-graphic violence and semi-graphic sex, ok well they're kind of hitmen too, rival secret agents au, silly to serious, there's some platonic bokukuro and akakono too enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoress/pseuds/Authoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi only has two rules when it comes to his profession. One, complete the job as swiftly and cleanly as possible. Two, never trust anyone who smells like blood.</p><p>Rule three is to shoot Owl Eyes in the face should he ever come across him, but Akaashi never tells anyone about that one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bang! now we're even

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flintlock (yukine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukine/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Пиф-паф!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075672) by [named_Juan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/named_Juan/pseuds/named_Juan)



> _She's like a bullet through an ocean,_  
>  _I still remember how you moved so slow._  
>  _You tried to kill me with a shotgun._  
> [ **_Bang! Now we're even_ **](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56iqg2zSABI)  
> _We don't stop till someone's bleeding._    
>    
>  _(Cause I've broken bones for you, and for you only.)_

_It’s about time to leave this job_ , Akaashi thinks for the hundredth time, sighing and adjusting his scope with a click. He peers through the lens, crosshairs focused on a building a block down from his rooftop, through a partially opened window, flimsy curtains fluttering in the slight breeze.

 

_Have to calculate that in too, I suppose._

 

He shifts the tripod slightly, dragging his gear across the concrete and wincing a little at the grating sound it made. He really shouldn’t have taken this job. He was marooned up here for hours, not necessarily in plain sight, but still in an open area where his security could be easily compromised. Akaashi catches himself about to sigh and sits up, deciding that shaking up his position a little will clear his head. He pads to the other side of the rooftop, scanning the area with practiced ease on instinct. No one else. Good.

 

The sun’s just about to set and he allows himself to stretch a little and watch the dying ember sink below the purplish mountains in the distance. Muffled music reached him from the city’s center. As the last fingers of pinkish-orange light stretch into the sky, the clatter of a trashcan hitting the ground and the distant, ever-present rumble of cars echoes through the narrow streets and up the buildings. Akaashi’s lips twitch almost fondly. France might not have been home, but it wasn’t exactly horrible either.

 

That was one of the perks of his…profession. He got to travel and see more of the world than he ever would have if he was still back in the dirty slums, the dark, passed-over part of the city where the ugly parts of life were thrown in a heap and expected to make something of it. Akaashi wasn’t doing anything that technically different from his past life, but he’d rather be killing people with a sleek sniper rifle than a faulty handgun grasped in shaking fingers. At least Fukurodani paid him well.

 

Akaashi only has two rules as far as jobs are concerned: one, get in and out as cleanly and quickly as possible. The longer he sticks around, the better a trail he sets to be tracked and pursued by the police, the CIA, the KGB, anyone, honestly. He was chosen because he’s deadly silent and doesn’t make waves; not when he’s on an undercover mission and not when he’s the invisible killer in the dark.

 

His second rule is one that has carried over since he was young: never trust anyone who smells like blood. Murderers, politicians, agents, CEO’s…they all have that certain scent to them, clean and metallic, fresh as snow. To the untrained, perhaps it’s a whiff of cologne or just the natural fragrance of expertise and success, but Akaashi has always been able to detect the faintest smell of those with blood on their hands. They’re killers and liars, each one, and trusting them is tantamount to stabbing yourself in the back, despite whatever Konoha says. He’s never had a gun trained on him in the field now, has he?

 

“ _Hey, I take offense to that, you know_ ,” Konoha laughs through the com. “ _I trained just as hard as the rest of you—I’m just not crazy enough to go out there and do it._ ”

 

“Nevertheless, Konoha-san,” Akaashi replies, “I still maintain that you don’t have nearly enough experience in the field to make that judgment.”

 

“ _Oh, is that so? Yet I also smell like blood, don’t I, Akaashi?_ ” Akaashi doesn’t answer. “ _Do you really hate trusting people so much? Hear me out, will you—a person like you, a killer, wouldn’t they know best about honor and trust? They’re in the same business; surely they would know professional courtesy dictates they keep their word. For the agents at least, I wouldn’t trust a politician or businessman as far as I could throw them_.”

 

“You can be very naïve sometimes, Konoha-san,” Akaashi murmurs. “It’s about time now; check the cameras and make sure Komi-san is in position—he’s only going to have one shot at this before the bodyguards rush in. I truly hope he can run.”

 

“ _I’ve got the chopper ready to lift off the moment you take him out. But we aren’t done with this conversation either, I’m not letting you off the hook so easily_.”

 

Akaashi huffs in mild annoyance but doesn’t acknowledge Konoha. He walks back to his rifle, settling down on his stomach where he can see the guest of honor at the banquet making his way towards the podium for a speech, laughing and shaking the hands of other esteemed guests as he goes. The light in the room is too bright for the heavy darkness that has settled over the city and Akaashi can’t hear the music or the cars anymore, just his steady breaths and the constant, unwavering beat of his heart. All he can feel is the phantom cold of the metal trigger through his gloves, chilling him and zeroing his focus onto one point.

 

_Time to get serious._

 

There will be a moment of disorganization as the guests sit down and the speaker’s bodyguards adjust to new positions for the duration of the speech. It’s Akaashi’s job to find the pinnacle of confusion and seize that opportunity, shoot the man dead where he stands while Komi, posing as a guest, secures the key that never leaves his person—that’s the target. The man is older, late fifties, with slightly graying hair. Akaashi supposes that he’s someone important, most likely, to have a nuclear launch key on him. He wouldn’t know. He never reads the files of his marks.

 

_You’re just another mortal to a street rat like me, after all._

 

One deep breath, then another. It’s almost time now. The bodyguards have begun to move from their positions, leisurely ambling to their new spots. Akaashi will only have a split second to take the shot. In his ear, Konoha says something, likely giving him details about what’s going on or Komi’s status, but Akaashi's mind is honed in sharply on this scene, crosshairs tracking the back of the man’s suit, to his left side, directly over the heart. He climbs the stairs to the small raised platform and reaches to adjust the papers on the podium. Akaashi sees it.

 

His finger flutters on the trigger, and a gunshot echoes down the streets. There’s a beat of silence, and then all the noise of the city returns, flooding Akaashi's senses. Konoha is yelling at Komi to _get in there already, holy shit, where did that bodyguard come from?_ But Akaashi is frozen, looking through the scope at the bodyguard over the man’s fallen body, bleeding fatally from his gut. The bodyguard’s shocking white and grey-streaked hair bobs as he yells for an ambulance, using his own suit to put pressure on the bleeding, undershirt splattered with blood. A few more bodyguards appear to take over and he stalks away, tapping at his cellphone and then talking into it seriously and quietly.

 

He confirms something with the person on the other end and lowers the phone. With it, Akaashi's stomach sinks and a feeling of ice spreads through his limbs. Because he saw the flash of dark metal and he saw his mark fall. He saw White Hair snatch the lanyard from his breast pocket so surreptitiously. His finger trembles on the trigger unpulled, Konoha and Komi filling the com with swearing and uncertainty.

 

White Hair looks up.

 

No, that isn’t correct. He doesn’t just look up. He looks straight through the little window, curtains now still, and looks at Akaashi. Predatory gold burns a hole through Akaashi, and the knowing smile that accompanies it makes him recoil away from the scope, packing his rifle as fast as possible, sloppily throwing the parts in his duffle, zipping it up with uncertain hands, heart racing. He taps the com. “Komi, we’re out. Get on that chopper ASAP and meet me at rendezvous point D. We’ve been compromised.”

 

No one pursues Akaashi as he darts through the streets in all black, swifter than he ever has before. No corner or cranny reveals an enemy, despite the feeling of being watched and mocked. Akaashi is cold and all he can see is red white gold.

 

\-----------------------

 

“Konoha-san.”

 

Shit. Oh he’s in trouble now. Akaashi's voice is sharp and bordering on angry, although still keeping his typical air of disinterest. Konoha looks up, ready to face his imminent doom, and is met with a very ruffled Akaashi, eyes bloodshot and hair tousled. _He must have just gotten back from France, and he doesn’t look like he’s slept a wink_. His posture is too stiff, his brow too crinkled, and even when Akaashi is focusing he never shows this much emotion. Something’s really got him.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Akaashi places a hand on his temple. “We’ve worked together for so long, I thought you would know how to pull off proper surveillance on a missi—”

 

“Whoa, what? Hold on a second!” Konoha interrupts, hurt fluttering in his stomach. “I did everything you told me to! If there’s some special measures you wanted me to take, that’s on you—I did my job.” How dare Akaashi accuse him of making such elementary errors.

 

“Then perhaps you can explain to me why a rival agent knew I was on that _exact rooftop_ and stole my kill,” Akaashi retorts, seething.

 

Konoha pauses. “A rival agent? But you took the shot…are you telling me someone else fired at that exact moment?”

 

“The white-haired bodyguard. He must have been an agent for another organization, but he was able to infiltrate my mark’s security, kill him, and take the key,” Akaashi explains. “Who is he, and why did he know where I was?”

 

Konoha throws up his hands in exasperation. “How should I know that? God, go get debriefed already get some damn sleep. I’ll look up this mystery agent in the meantime and report back to you when I find out.”

 

Akaashi doesn’t move for a long moment, but eventually breaks when Konoha raises an eyebrow at him. There’s a set to his shoulders as he slinks off that Konoha has never seen before—this man has set him off. He knows that Akaashi prizes his security and anonymity as an agent above all else, so this must have been a rattling experience. Still, Konoha has his doubts. There are very few organizations like theirs with agents good enough to slip under his radar and actually steal a mark from Akaashi. They aren’t Fukurodani’s most trusted duo for nothing.

 

Konoha spends the next couple hours scanning the footage for proof of Akaashi's claim. Sure enough, he finds the gun in their specially placed cameras, completely invisible to any of the others in the massive dining room. Konoha also catches a phone call and a glance out the window—Akaashi's targeted window.

 

“Damn it. He’s actually really good.” Konoha narrows his eyes at the man on the screen, a proud upward tilt of his head in the image of his profile. “Who the hell are you?”

 

Of course, when he finds out, all the blood drains from his face and his knuckles go white from curling so tightly into a fist.

 

\----------------------

 

“I have good news and bad news,” Konoha begins a couple days later, when Akaashi looks less like he’s seen a ghost and more like he’s itching to hit the indoor range, fingers twitching on the top of the table he’s seated at.

 

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

Konoha gives him the most confident smile he can muster. “The good news is that you will never have to come into contact with that guy again. I’ve spoken with the director. It appears there was a bit of…miscommunication between our two organizations.”

 

Akaashi is not amused. The unimpressed stare tells Konoha that much. “I highly doubt I will never see him again; we share a profession. What are you hiding, Konoha-san?”

 

“Er, well. That guy…he’s pretty famous throughout the world as one of the most successful assassin-agents. The number of missions he’s failed as compared to the number of missions he takes—well, the proportion makes his failures near inconsequential. What I’m saying is that no one blames you for losing to him.” Akaashi's eyes narrow.

 

“Who is he, Akinori.”

 

Konoha shrugs one shoulder, a helpless smile on his face. “His code name is Owl Eyes. He’s the ace of Nekoma.”

 

Akaashi sucks in a breath. It feels like being punched in the gut. _That_ was Owl Eyes? Wanted in almost every single country he entered, there was a price on that man’s head that could buy a small country, people and all. He was legendary for unbelievable hits he managed, including a mid-air assassination, blowing up a submarine, and snapping the neck of his mark while at high altitudes, mountain-climbing. Owl Eyes was a thrill-seeker and cold-blooded. He worked when he felt like it, turned on anyone who rubbed him the wrong way, and owed no man.

 

And Akaashi had challenged him. He had lost.

 

“I’m going to the range now,” he announces, pushing his chair back. “I have a mission in Siberia in a few weeks. Thank you for the information, Konoha-san.”

 

“Akaashi, please don’t take this to heart. Just forget about him, alright?” Konoha calls. Akaashi throws a him a soft look over his shoulder.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

\---------------------

 

Akaashi just wanted to get back the feel for a good mission. Owl Eyes had thrown him off a bit, but there was nothing like freezing your ass off in Siberia to set your mind on what really mattered. He picked an easier one this time, just running defense while another member of their organization snuck into a high-security research facility for information relevant to a client. A bit boring, but Akaashi was happy to take the back seat for this one. He wasn’t even using a silencer this time, just perched in the treeline on a steady branch, keeping still and silent. Even his breaths hardly stirred the air.

 

He just wanted to get comfortable again. Too bad that the revving of a skidoo tearing through the snow-covered forest floor threw Akaashi off guard again. Sure enough, poking out from a mass of furs and jackets, the streaked hair tore past Akaashi's survey spot, accompanied by three others in his party. They charged the gate to the facility, guns blazing, and taking out the guards with incredible speed. Akaashi fumbled for the com, yelling in Russian for his team to get the hell out of there.

 

They weren’t fast enough. Of course they weren’t. Only Akaashi, the secondary sniper, and one critically wounded member of the infiltration team returned alive. And the real kicker was that they only had about half the information necessary.

 

Akaashi took another job. And another. And another. But still he showed up, that Owl Eyes. In Bimini. In Chile. In North Korea.

 

The final blow that really made Akaashi snap was in Brussels. He had finally, _finally_ managed to snatch the briefcase that was his target off his mark’s body, running for the speedboat waiting for him at the dock, sticking close to the shadows and putting as many obstacles around him as possible. The boat was within sight when the bullet blew straight through his hand and forced him to drop the case, howling in pain.

 

He grasped his hand and stared through the bloody, torn hole, breath ragged and panicked. But in that moment of hesitation, a shadow detached itself from the wall and grabbed the briefcase, throwing him a catlike grin and purring “better luck next time, dove” before taking off for a tourist ferry, leaping onto the side with ‘Wet Paint’ signs sectioning off a suspiciously convenient area of deck space. Sure enough, the dark stranger pulled off his outer clothing to reveal casual tourist attire underneath. And at the helm of the ship, peering out at Akaashi when the thief entered the cabin, were laughing golden eyes and the flash of a gun.

 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Akaashi curls one bloody hand into a fist and smashes the other one against the wall of the hotel room Konoha booked for them. His teeth grind together and he squeezes back the tears pricking at his eyes because of the pain, the throbbing reminder of cold white and mocking metal and predatory gold—always the danger in that gold—and red, red, _red_.

 

“We need to get you to a doctor before that gets infected,” Konoha insists seriously. “You’re bleeding over the carpet, someone’s bound to notice.” He reaches for Akaashi's shoulder and is met with flashing eyes and an animalistic snarl. Akaashi is wild and dangerous, eyes darting.

 

“ _Don’t you dare touch me._ ”

 

“You need to see a doctor, if you’d just lis—”

 

“No, I need to find him, I need to _kill him_ —”

 

“ _Keiji!_ ” Konoha snaps and grabs Akaashi's face, gripping him tightly and forcing him to look in Konoha’s eyes.

 

“I get that you’re furious about the mission. You failed; that’s the reality. You know were outclassed, _I_ know you were outclassed, and most importantly, _he_ knows you were outclassed. Face the facts—you can’t beat Owl Eyes. So stop beating yourself up about this.” Konoha’s voice softens at the end.

 

Akaashi bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, sucking in a breath and attempting to rein in his emotions. “He’s following me, Konoha-san. He knows who I am and what I’m doing and it terrifies me. I don’t know why he’s targeting me without actually targeting me, and I just—” Akaashi takes a breath. Opens his eyes again. Looks straight at Konoha, unwavering. “I want him dead.”

 

Konoha’s blood turns to ice. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

 

Akaashi is quiet for the rest of their stay in Brussels, save for one more quiet assertion that makes the hair stand up on the back of Konoha’s neck:

 

_“I’m going to find him, Konoha-san. And then I’m going to show him exactly why he should choose his prey more carefully.”_

 

\----------------------

 

“This is a bad idea,” Konoha says to Akaashi through the com, resignation in his voice. Akaashi stirs his drink with his little finger absently.

 

“Of course it is. That’s the point,” he muses, unperturbed. Meticulous eyes scan the crowd for his “target”. As if reading his mind, Konoha breaks in again.

 

“Please remember that Owl Eyes isn’t _actually_ your mark, please. You have a job to get done here, Akaashi,” Konoha insists.

 

“Indeed I do,” Akaashi agrees steadily, earning him a frustrated groan. “Now stop talking to me, it looks suspicious.” Konoha doesn’t reply, leaving Akaashi to his lazy scanning, looking for all the world as if he were a distressed maiden, lonely at the bar. The red dress, heels, and wig probably helped.

 

Abandoning his barstool, Akaashi grabbed his drink and slipped into the crowd of the high-class casino. Montenegro might have been a small nation, but it had wealth to furnish this palace of a building inside and out, attracting people with a net worth of equal or greater value attached to them. And with those people came the agents, the assassins. He had asked for this mission specifically because he knew Nekoma would be overlapping at this event, the greatest poker event in the world.

 

Fluttering eyelashes at the men without dates—and even a few who did—Akaashi weaved through the gathering of extravagant wealth and power, slipping into his role as the widowed wife of a Spanish billionaire as easy as breathing. Ah, there he was—the real target. The man was younger, came into his money early from deceased parents, and was making a fortune in stocks. All Akaashi had to do was poison him, thereby completing the mission and hopefully forcing Owl Eyes out of the woodwork and into his talons.

 

One inelegant stumble later, and his mark’s martini was lying shattered on the ground. Akaashi threw a hand over his mouth in horror, stuttering apologies out in a Spanish accent to the man who seemed completely unbothered by Akaashi's fumble and more interested in how the dress accentuated his already feminine hips.

 

“ _Ay dios mío!_ I am so very sorry, sir, I can be so clumsy sometimes…please tell me I have not ruined your suit,” Akaashi feigned concern over his mark’s suit, hesitating before touching him.

 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, Miss…?” the man said, an interested smile on his face, looking Akaashi over. Akaashi tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled daintily.

 

“You can just call me Marrito. I’d prefer not use my late husband’s name,” Akaashi answers, flustered. “Please allow me to buy you another one.”

 

The man laughed. “It should be the other way around! Go ahead, order two new ones, Miss Marrito—on my tab.” He winked at Akaashi, who shyly turned away and headed to the bar, façade dropping as soon as his face was out of view. Calling for the bartender, he ordered two more martinis, slipping a vial out from his “bra”. Unscrewing the lid surreptitiously, he thanked the bartender with a smile and made to tilt the liquid into the drink.

 

“Ah, not so fast there. It’s quite impolite to mess with the drink Harold so kindly mixed for you now, isn’t it?” The hand stilling Akaashi's is warm and firm.

 

He whips around fast, eyes widening slightly in shock and then narrowing again. “Owl Eyes,” he growls, low and dangerous.

 

Dressed in all black, Owl Eyes’ white hair stands out even more, like a beacon, mocking Akaashi for not seeing him immediately. He is infuriatingly handsome and clean, blending in seamlessly with the breed of people around them. But Akaashi smells it, under his cologne, the smell of blood wafting off of him, cloying and thick. All his nerves alight at his close proximity with someone so deadly.

 

“Hello Marrito,” Owl Eyes murmurs, delight on his face. His other arm sneaks around Akaashi's waist and Akaashi jerks away from the touch, trying to wrench his hand from Owl Eyes’ grasp simultaneously. His efforts are in vain, and Owl Eyes digs his fingers into Akaashi's hip.

 

“Careful now,” he cautions, amused. “Wouldn’t want to blow your cover now, would you?”

 

“Then it appears we’ve reached a deadlock,” Akaashi grinds out. “Why do you care anyway?”

 

“Oh psh, no we haven’t.” Owl Eyes wrenches the vial from Akaashi's hand and lets it fall to the floor, tinkling on the wood. He frees Akaashi's hand and grabs a glass, gesturing for Akaashi to take the other. “Just follow my lead,” he says, ignoring Akaashi's question.

 

Trapped, Akaashi has no choice but to snag the drink and allow himself to be pulled along at the waist, his whole body screaming to kick the shit out of Owl Eyes. They walk back to Akaashi's mark, and his heart sinks when recognition dawns in his mark’s eyes upon seeing Owl Eyes.

 

“Koutarou!” he exclaims. “Glad you could make it. I heard business in Japan is booming. Ah, and I see you’ve found my little mouse.”

 

Owl Eyes laughs lightly in response. “I’m glad I could make it, too. Montenegro is stunning this time of year. Oh, and I hate to steal Miss Marrito away from you—she’s such a joy—but she agreed to be my accessory for the night, and I do need her. Direly.”

 

Oh, Akaashi is _definitely_ going to kill him.

 

His mark nods understandingly and accepts the drink from Owl Eyes. “Well it was very nice to meet you Miss, I do hope I will be seeing you again.” Akaashi nods because if he tried to speak, it would be a scream.

 

Owl Eyes tugs him away from the thick of the crowd, still keeping a tight grip. Akaashi places a hand on his delicately, prompting a confused noise from Owl Eyes before digging his fake nails into his flesh. “ _Let go of me_ ,” Akaashi hisses, making no effort to hide the venom in his voice.

 

That earns a laugh from Owl Eyes, who doesn’t seem bothered by the pain. “You look quite fetching in that getup, Miss Marrito. I’m a little bit turned on.” He turns his head to speak directly into Akaashi's ear, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Or should I call you Keiji?”

 

Akaashi sees red.

 

Pretending to stumble once more, he falls to the ground, drawing a knife from the sheath on his leg just as Owl Eyes leaned down to assist him. Akaashi pressed the blade against Owl Eyes’ abdomen, causing him to still immediately. He blinks at Akaashi innocently. “You wouldn’t stab a man in the middle of a party, would you Keiji?”

 

Akaashi presses harder, cutting through fabric to skin. “Don’t call me that.”

 

“We should talk in private,” Owl Eyes suggests, looking around at the crowd. People are beginning to stare. Akaashi sheaths the knife.

 

“Lead the way, then,” Akaashi murmurs. “But if you try anything, I’m gutting you here and now.”

 

Owl Eyes raises his hands in surrender. They walk to where the crowd thins out, commandeering an empty room away from where the poker game has begun. Owl Eyes looks the room over thoughtfully as Akaashi closes the door, whistling at how expensive the ornate furnishings and art must be. When he turns around, he finds himself shoved against a wall, one arm across his throat and the other pressing the heavy muzzle of a silencer under his chin. His breath catches and Akaashi examines him critically.

 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t blow your head off and save myself a lot of trouble.”

 

“You don’t know anything yet,” Owl Eyes grins. “You don’t know why I’m here, or how I found out about your missions, or why I know your name. You don’t even know who I am.”

 

“Fine,” Akaashi concedes easily. “Who are you?”

 

“Bokuto Koutarou, lead field agent of Nekoma, and notorious worldwide for my skill in executing missions. Known also by the alias Owl Eyes.” Akaashi stares at him in disbelief.

 

“Your real name,” he insists, shoving the gun against his chin harder.

 

Owl Eyes shrugs. “It’s the truth. I have no reason to lie to you. You’re the one in control, remember?”

 

Yes, that should be true, but Akaashi feels like he’s being played. This feels too much like a setup, like Owl Eyes—Bokuto, he supposes—wants to get caught. Even now, this conversation and his every move seems to be going according to Bokuto’s expectations. How much has he calculated? Does he have backup waiting to shoot Akaashi if he makes a wrong move? Akaashi's apprehensive and thrown off his game, heart racing in anxiety.

 

“Why are you protecting my mark? Nekoma has no affiliation with his security. Why do you keep interfering in my missions? _How_ do you keep interfering in my missions? What the hell do you want with me?” Akaashi snaps, feeling flighty.

 

“Your mark’s uncle was rather concerned with his lack of security, so he hired me out to protect his nephew while remaining undercover. Good thing I came, it appears,” Bokuto explains. Akaashi closes his eyes and swallows. _Of course. Somehow he’s purposefully gotten in my way again._

“As for the why…” Bokuto trails off and Akaashi's eyes snap open. Bokuto smiles and shrugs again. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re fascinating—your methods, your preparation, the way you deal with conflicts. And that ferocity when you see me, that hatred—it’s quite beautiful. I could watch you all day. Why do you think I allow you to threaten me like this? It’s breathtaking.”

 

Akaashi bristles at the implication that Bokuto is letting all of this happen. “I’m not your plaything, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi asserts.

 

Bokuto raises an eyebrow. “No? And yet you’ve been toyed with quite a bit.” With one swift movement, he punches Akaashi in the solar plexus and knocks the gun from his hand. Stumbling back and wheezing, Akaashi shakes himself out just in time to block another punch. Bokuto is ruthless, throwing kicks and punches that Akaashi struggles to defend against. The backs of his knees catch on a piece of furniture and he braces himself for a hard fall, only to land on the soft cushions of a couch.

 

Bokuto follows him over, straddling him and catching his wrists to hold them above his head. Akaashi's chest heaves with each pant, head foggy and furious. Bokuto’s eyes are wild with delight. “This is what I wanted,” he murmurs. “I wanted to fight you, to touch you, to have you recognize me.” He leans in to press his mouth against Akaashi's jaw, right below his ear. Stretching his neck, Akaashi bites down on Bokuto's ear hard enough that he tastes blood in his mouth.

 

Bokuto swears and draws away, one hand on his ear and the other still pinning Akaashi. But when he looks back down, his eyes widen in amazement. “Your hand, is that—”

 

Akaashi uses the moment of hesitation on Bokuto’s part to free himself and headbutt him in the chin, hearing the satisfying click of Bokuto's teeth snapping together. He kicks the other man off him and runs, ditching the heels. He calls for a taxi, and it’s only once he’s back safely in his hotel room that Akaashi attempts to contact Konoha.

 

“Konoha-san, are you there?”

 

“ _God, yes, of course,_ ” Konoha replies, sounding relieved. “ _Are you okay? I didn’t want to speak so he’d think you came without backup_.” Akaashi nods before he realizes Konoha can’t see him.

 

“Yes, I’m fine, but we’re going to need a different approach in order to take down both the target and Bokuto-san,” he explains.

 

“ _Bokuto- **san**? Just how well did you get to know him?_ ”

 

Akaashi thumbs through his wardrobe absently. “Hmm…well enough to take him down, I think.”

 

\----------------------------

 

The next day, Akaashi returns to the casino in a suit and tie, his hair combed and a new cover as the representative for an up-and-coming auto business in Japan, here to mingle with other big wigs. His mark buys into the game for five million dollars, just to see what happens. Bokuto stands at the outer edge, a spectator next to the girl his mark apparently picked up and keeping her entertained. Akaashi does not wander anywhere near Bokuto’s field of vision, knowing it will make him antsy. Instead, he waits for a break in the game by drinking and conversing with the other guests.

 

When the break does come, he slides a dinner knife up the sleeve of his suit and follows his mark to the bathroom farther away from the main table, the close one conveniently ‘out of order’. He has a hand on the door and everything when two hands plant themselves firmly on his shoulders and spin him around. Akaashi's knife shoots up and grazes a cut across Bokuto's sharp jawline, resting there in warning.

 

“Good afternoon, Bokuto-san. How may I help you?” he asks.

 

Bokuto’s smile practically splits his face. “Well I’d find it very helpful if you’d stop trying to kill my mark and consequently, me.”

 

Akaashi pretends to consider his proposition. “Alright. On the condition that you drive this knife through your throat, I will leave my mark alone.” Bokuto laughs loudly, accidentally pushing the knife further into his face and wincing a bit.

 

“That’s quite unfair of you, Akaashi. I rather like my life intact,” Bokuto whines. “Can’t we just be friends?”

 

“Not in this life nor the next,” Akaashi says flatly. Bokuto whines louder.

 

It’s amazing to Akaashi how relaxed Bokuto is. Does he truly trust his skills that much? Is Akaashi really not a threat to him at all? Or does he actually want them to be acquainted? Either way, carelessness like that can and will be exploited. Even someone like Bokuto has a weakness. Akaashi allows the knife to drop with a sigh. Instead, he pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at the blood on Bokuto’s face.

 

“Honestly,” he says in response to Bokuto’s small, shocked noise. “Did you really think you could go back to the game room looking like this?” Bokuto’s expression is naively soft with surprise.

 

“Akaashi…” he murmurs.

 

Akaashi tucks the bloody handkerchief into his breast pocket. “Make up a story for that, would you? I’ll be seeing you tonight to kill your man.”

 

He saunters off, proud and accomplished, leaving a stunned Bokuto in his wake. Konoha’s voice crackles in from the other end of the com, sounding as shocked as Bokuto looked. “ _Akaashi, what are you doing? You left both your mark and Bokuto unscathed. Were…were you **flirting** with him?”_

 

“That’s what he wants, isn’t it?” Akaashi replies simply. “Bokuto-san wants a rival. He wants someone to play his game. That’s his weakness. And I’m going to best him at his own game. On an unrelated note, what’s our budget for this mission?”

 

“ _A helluva lot. Why?_ ”

 

“I need a new dress.”

 

\--------------

 

Bokuto is nervous.

 

This is a new feeling, something he hadn’t experienced in quite some time, but he is so darn _nervous_. It’s all Akaashi's fault.

 

He had sought after the agent for some time, ever since the director had shown him _okay, this is the man who will be pursuing your mark as a sniper_. Akaashi had talent, grace, and incredible beauty that captured Bokuto’s attention so often, Kuroo had to beat him about the head and shoulders to focus. And once he got in Akaashi's way—well, he got to see that delicious fury that lit a fire in his heart. Oh, how nice it was to be hated! To have someone who would sink their claws into him with no hesitation!

 

He had been so sure that Akaashi would play the game when Bokuto allowed himself to be cornered. They had fought, a gun was drawn, Akaashi even drew blood. And seeing his _hand_ …Bokuto got chills just thinking about it. Even today, Akaashi had threatened him almost playfully, making Bokuto’s heart skip a beat. It was all going so well up until the point that Akaashi dabbed away the blood on his face, looking concerned even with a face as expressionless as his. That wasn’t what rivals did. That wasn’t what two killers, fated to hate each other, did to one another. That was soft, friendly—something like that screwed up all Bokuto’s calculations.

 

And now, he had no idea what Akaashi would do. He would show up soon; the game would be starting soon and he promised to be back. But when? How would he appear? Bokuto was on high-alert, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Of course Akaashi wasn’t good enough to kill him or his target, but it was still so exhilarating, to be on edge. His stomach coiled in anticipation.

 

“ _If you have sex with him, I am resigning as you tech_ ,” Kuroo’s voice breaks in, bored. “ _I don’t want any part of that, you can find your own way home._ ”

 

“You think he would want to?” Bokuto murmurs thoughtfully, considering. Akaashi would surely not let Bokuto top him. And he would bite a lot and not be the least bit gentle. It would really hurt. Oh, that did sound nice.

 

“ _What? No, of course not. He hates your ass. If he agrees to have sex with you it’s because he’s going to slit your throat while you’re moaning in pleasure._ ”

 

Bokuto grumbles. Kuroo was probably right. The thought was so lovely though.

 

“I’d just like him to show up alr— _oh_.”

 

“ _Hey, what happened? Koutarou, what’s going on?…Kou? Kou, are you even there?”_

 

Bokuto would love to respond. He’d love to make any other sound than the strangled whine that worked its way out of his throat. But he is absolutely unable to, now that Akaashi has arrived—right through the front door.

 

He’s dressed in a long, black evening gown with slits up his thighs that draw more than just Bokuto’s eyes to him. Hell, the entire room is looking at Akaashi. There’s a circlet of silver leaves in his hair—short this time—and when he walks past the main table Bokuto can see that the dress’s back opens up from his neck to the base of his shoulder blades. It’s elegant. It’s sensual. It’s the exact opposite of what an agent undercover should wear.

 

And he walks right up to Bokuto with all the eyes in the room on him, one hand resting on his forearm and the other on his shoulder for balance as he reaches up to press a lingering kiss to Bokuto’s jaw—the same place Bokuto kissed him yesterday. He slides his hand up Bokuto’s arm, the other falling away as he runs his fingers across Bokuto’s back and settles on his other shoulder. “Good evening,” Akaashi whispers in Japanese, all quiet sensuality, breath tickling Bokuto’s ear. “Quite a nice night for a game. I’m glad they opened up the windows.”

 

In front of them, Akaashi's mark gapes at Bokuto and Akaashi, eyes darting between them. “Koutarou, is she yours too? Er…or maybe that’s a he.” Bokuto is still too stunned to reply, but Akaashi answers for him, still in Japanese.

 

“I am not his. He is mine. And I have won.”

 

In one swift movement, he pulls out the gun strapped to the leg Bokuto didn’t see and shoots his mark point blank. The room explodes into panic at the gunshot, everyone fleeing for their lives and in the process, impeding security. Bokuto is in complete shock.

 

“Oh Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighs, drawing away from him and moving backwards. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to check your dates for weapons?” With that, Akaashi tumbles out the open third story window, Bokuto jolting into action after him. He peers out, only to find that Akaashi is safe in the bed of a truck, and fires at Bokuto the moment he sticks his head over the edge.

 

“Black pickup truck, go, find it!” Bokuto snarls at security, tapping his com and racing from the room and out of the casino. “Kuroo, I need backup, ASAP—”

 

“I’m already here,” Kuroo calls from out in front of Bokuto. He looks up to see Kuroo gesturing wildly for him to hop in the sports car. Bokuto does as bid. “I drive; you shoot,” Kuroo orders once he’s in. Bokuto nods.

 

The truck made for a convenient landing, but it’s not as fast as Kuroo’s Ferrari, especially when Kuroo drives desperately. They catch up on a mostly empty strip of road, the truck making for the nearest port. Bokuto leans out and Kuroo lines him up, Bokuto emptying round into the cab as quickly as he can fire. What he didn’t expect though was Akaashi, AK-47 in hand, leaning out the back of the flatbed and firing straight as them, forcing Kuroo to swerve dramatically, cursing every holy being he can think of.

 

Bokuto’s back slams against the door and he snarls, reloading his gun and firing at Akaashi, who ducks away. The truck squeals around a corner when they come into the port and Kuroo misses the turn, taking a parallel side road and flooring it. Bokuto is thrown back into the car, knocking his forehead bloody in the process.

 

“Go Tetsu, go—don’t you dare let him escape,” Bokuto growls.

 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Kuroo grinds out.

 

They spin around the final corner, skidding to a halt and coming face-to-face with a tousle-haired Akaashi training his gun on them, dress whipping in the wind. He’s already on the speedboat, his pale-haired companion bringing it to life. They’re left at an impasse, much like how Bokuto and Akaashi first met, but this time it’s Akaashi with the upper hand, aiming at them until he’s out of range.

 

Kuroo and Bokuto stare at the disappearing silhouette of the boat in silence until it fades from view completely. Then Kuroo just _looks_ at him, and Bokuto bursts out laughing. It’s hysterical; he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

 

“Why the hell are you _laughing_?” Kuroo looks at him in horror. “You _failed_ a mission. You! You lost to that—that—”

 

“I _know!_ ” Bokuto laughs. “It’s _because_ it’s him that it’s so funny!”

 

“Kou, what even—”

 

“Just think about it! We looked down on him so much, assumed he was not up to our level of infiltration and skill, and then he figured out my weakness and used it against me. He made a whole daring plan…oh, Tetsu, he’s a _thinker_. I’m so proud of him.”

 

“Are you even hearing yourself?”

 

“Tetsu, Tetsu…I think I’m in _love_ with him. I have to find him again.”

 

“Wh—hey wait a second, why are you looking at me like that? I want no part of this. No, I’m not going to help you look for him. _No_ , stop looking at me like that. Kou! You _know_ I’m weak to pleading eyes, that’s not f—ugh, fine.”

 

\------------------

 

Akaashi shakes the remaining droplets of water from his hair onto the tile floor with a sigh. It’s a pleased sigh. One successful mission down, and now he’s at home, a warm shower and the quiet familiarity of his property calming his mind. He draws a hand along the wall as he walks downstairs to his living room. His secure line’s light is blinking, and he pads over to check it. Two voice messages from Konoha…well, those could wait. Right now, Akaashi wanted a cup or three of coffee. Adjusting the towel around his waist, he wanders into the kitchen, taking a deep breath of coffee and spice and blood—

 

 Blood.

 

 

Akaashi tenses and flattens himself against the wall. No ally of his would come in without warning him first—this is the smell of an enemy. And it’s fresh, too. They’re still here. He grabs a steak knife and quietly checks the kitchen and downstairs rooms for any place an intruder might be hidden, stilling his breath and heightening his senses through focus. All clear. They’re upstairs then. Not the bathroom, he was just in there. A cold chill runs down Akaashi's spine. Who would break into his apartment and just ignore him in the shower?

 

Well. There’s really only one answer to that question.

 

Akaashi slams open the door to his bedroom, fully expecting to see Bokuto sprawled out across his bed lazily. He’s not there, nor anywhere in the immediate vicinity of his room. Akaashi lowers the knife, puzzled. Had he miscalculated?

 

The door slams behind him and he whips around just in time to see Bokuto lunge at him, golden eyes too bright and hungry in the shadows. Bokuto knocks the knife from his unsteady grip easily and goes straight for Akaashi's neck, strangling him while Akaashi struggled to pull his hands away. He chokes weakly, eyes fluttering and vision blurring. All he can see is that gold, the dangerous gold he should never have trusted.

 

Mustering up as much strength as he can, Akaashi bashes his head into Bokuto’s both recoiling in pain. Akaashi sees Bokuto wipe blood from a now split lip, a wicked smile curling his lips. “Dance with me, _Keiji_ ,” he demands. Akaashi's eyes dart for the knife. Bokuto doesn’t give him time to look.

 

He charges again, knocking Akaashi into a wall. He punches at Akaashi, who manages to block most of them, wincing at the few that land and returning some himself. Then Bokuto goes for his shoulder, biting down hard on the muscle just to the side of Akaashi's neck. Gasping in pain, Akaashi fumbles beneath Bokuto’s shirt to claw his back as hard as he can. When Bokuto groans and doesn’t let go, Akaashi bites his neck, pulling at the skin there viciously enough for Bokuto to shove away from him, both their mouths red with blood.

 

The scent is in the air, metallic and heavy, screwing with Akaashi's head, making him forget about the knife not too far from him, drawing him into Bokuto’s dance. He takes one step, then another, until they’re circling each other, snarling like animals. Akaashi lunges this time, and it’s a mistake—of course it’s a mistake, Bokuto _wanted_ him to engage, _knew_ that he had the advantage in hand-to-hand—and he rockets straight into his bed, smacking his head on the wall. He flips over and kicks blindly, connecting with Bokuto’s stomach when he followed.

 

He climbs over the edge anyway, standing over Akaashi, just hovering there while they stare each other down. It’s around that time Akaashi remembers how loose his towel has become, and it’s that moment of distraction that allows Bokuto to fall on him—literally—pinning him down even as Akaashi drew up his knees to protect his stomach. Bokuto shoves his legs down anyway, ignoring the shoving and scratching inflicted on his head and shoulders by Akaashi while he struggles wildly.

 

One hand, then the other—Bokuto catches them both. He rests one knee on Akaashi's stomach, keeping him down, and holds his hands against the wall with both his arms. They stare each other down, panting and dripping sweat and blood. Akaashi can smell Bokuto’s scent, under the blood and sweat. He smells like ash and dirt, something wild and earthly, cloying Akaashi's mind along with the blood. He can’t think straight, can’t make a plan, even if it could save his life.

 

“You win,” he gasps. “What do you want with me?”

 

“I want to kill you,” Bokuto growls. “And I want you to like it.”

 

Akaashi curls his lip at that, arching his back in attempt to free himself. The snarl building in his throat twists and escapes as a strangled gasp when in the process he bucks his hips, rubbing against Bokuto’s leg through his towel. The pleasure makes his eyes flutter and when he meets Bokuto’s gaze again, the hunger is there, gold consuming him. Everything is red and black and gold but he wants more of that blinding white feeling, wants to mix white and red and gold until he doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down.

 

He grinds against Bokuto’s leg again and the hitman groans, low in his throat. Their eyes meet once more, and then they jolt together, teeth clacking and biting painfully, Bokuto’s knee dropping from Akaashi's stomach to between his legs. Akaashi goes for Bokuto’s bottom lip, alternating biting at the cut and soothing it with sucking. He doesn’t let Bokuto in, licking his way into his mouth before Bokuto can, making them breathe heavy through their noses.

 

Then Bokuto presses his knee against Akaashi's crotch and he gasps, allowing Bokuto to shove his tongue down Akaashi's throat. Akaashi yanks his hands free to dig new marks into Bokuto’s back and to curl in his hair and pull hard. Bokuto strokes down Akaashi's body from neck to hips, memorizing his body by touch.

 

When they break apart again, a line of bloody saliva between their mouths, Bokuto leans back and pulls off his shirt, Akaashi following to run his hands up Bokuto’s chest and bite deep marks into his hips.

 

“Keiji, Keiji, _fuck_ ,” Bokuto whines.

 

“Don’t say my name,” Akaashi murmurs from his place, pressed against Bokuto’s abs. “In fact, don’t speak at all.” _If you do…that means this is real. I can’t let it be._

 

That earns him a growl and a shove, Bokuto dragging his teeth down Akaashi's neck. “Remember your place. I’ll be the one to kill you, don’t ever forget that. I’m going to mark you so deeply that they never heal, and everyone will know that you are mine. You will not forget me.” Bokuto’s eyes burn into Akaashi's. “I will not let you forget this death.”

 

“So you will have your way with me, but you and I both know that this won’t last,” Akaashi replied calmly. “We walk two different paths.”

 

“They converge today,” Bokuto demands. And, reaching beneath the towel, he strokes Akaashi until his back arches. “Don’t forget the fact that you want me too, Keiji.”

 

_The blood, the gold, the dirt, the white…_

 

“Don’t—We can’t—”

 

_This is madness._

 

“Haa…”

 

_He is gold and white and covered in red…I want him._

 

“Koutarou-san…Kou, Kou, Kou, please, just this once, then, please—”

 

“I’m here with you, Keiji.”

 

Akaashi yanks at Bokuto’s pants, yanks them off and away, and Bokuto pulls apart what was left of Akaashi's towel, stroking them both and tearing into Akaashi's neck, while Akaashi returns the favor into his shoulder and down his ass. They come together, across Akaashi's stomach, and kiss each other hungrily as Bokuto strokes them soft. When the haze clears in Akaashi's mind and he doesn’t smell anything but sex or feel anything but the heavy warmth of his rival draped sleepily along his body and the sticky evidence of their lust, he lies back, blank. There are no words to explain what he’s done that he could say aloud.

 

“Keiji?” Bokuto’s voice is muffled where his face is buried in Akaashi's shoulder, but he still sounds the same as he did their second encounter, soft wonder that made Akaashi doubt his professionalism. “Keiji…again?”

 

“Later,” Akaashi assures him in an equally soft voice he doesn’t recognize. “Sleep now.”

 

And he does. He drifts right off, trusting Akaashi not to kill him, despite their history. _Why do you trust me? I have done nothing for you to deserve this._ A hand brushes through the strands of Bokuto’s hair. It’s Akaashi's hand. He does not understand why, but he allows himself this moment of confusion, content in the happy snores of his rival companion.

 

\-------------------

 

They wake the next morning far dirtier than expected, and while Akaashi makes sounds of disgust, Bokuto eagerly drags him to the shower, naked as the day they were born.

 

“Koutarou-san, please don’t walk around my apartment like you know the place.”

 

“But I do! I explored all around before you got back. It smells like you here, really drives me crazy.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

“Are you mad?”

 

“I think in denial would be the proper term.”

 

“…Come here. It’s warm.”

 

“…Only once more then, Koutarou.”

 

Just like that, _once more, once more_. He repeated it over and over again in his mind. _This is the last time_ and _surely, after this it will be over_. But it wasn’t. There was always another next time. He couldn’t stop.

 

Not when Bokuto washed his hair, singing Russian lullabies. Not when he rinsed Bokuto’s hair, dabbing a little soap on his nose just to see his face crinkle at the indignity. Not when they dried off, sneaking looks at each other’s marks. Not when they traced those marks with touches. With kisses. Not when Bokuto pulled on one of his shirts and insisted on making them both tea even though Akaashi complained that he didn’t like tea.

 

It was a delicate fantasy, and it fell apart when the armed men smashed through his windows.

 

Bokuto was immediately separated by one half of the group, while the other half went for Akaashi. Bokuto panicked, trying to tear through them to Akaashi, calling for him desperately. Akaashi shouted something unintelligible and then went silent, fueling the adrenaline in Bokuto’s veins.

 

“Bokuto-san, Bokuto-san, wait!” One of the men cried out, tearing off his mask to reveal Yamamoto, one of Nekoma’s field agents. That gave Bokuto pause.

 

“Yamamoto? What are you doing here? Keiji—”

 

“He’s fine, he’s fine; they’re just securing him so that he can’t escape and sedating him.”

 

“Why would th—”

 

“Good job, by the way,” Kuroo’s voice breaks in, appearing from around the corner of the kitchen. “I had no idea this is what you were doing, otherwise I would have supported you from the start.”

 

Bokuto stares at him, puzzled. “You would have supported me sleeping with a rival agent?”

 

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “No, not that part. The part where you lower his guard? So that we could secure and interrogate him? This is great—if we learn all of Fukurodani’s secrets, they won’t be able to interfere _and_ they’re down a spectacular agent.”

 

Bokuto freezes. “This was a setup? The director sent me on missions so that he could capture Keiji in the end? To torture him?”

 

Kuroo looks at him curiously. “Why do I get the feeling you’re only hearing about this for the first time…”

 

But Bokuto can’t hear him. All he can hear are the chopper blades slicing the air and the crunch of glass under the feet, too loud for him to comprehend. _They took Keiji. They used me and took Keiji. They’re going to torture him. They took Keiji._

 

“I’m sorry Tetsu,” Bokuto whispers, and then he’s out the door, running, leaving behind the yells of his teammates. Leaving behind the colors and insignia of his teammates and taking up the cloak of white—white for rogue, white for the feeling of that morning, white for innocence. White for Keiji.

 

\---------------------------

 

Konoha keeps his workroom dark. A lot of the displays he uses show up better in the dark, and he likes the fact that people are less likely to disturb him if it looks like he isn’t in. The downside is that it also leaves him vulnerable to nasty surprises including, but not limited to: sitting on pizza, stepping on a cat, supergluing his sock to the floor, and getting the shit scared out of him by one of his more mischievous coworkers. So when Konoha walks up to his desk only to be greeted by golden owl eyes peering at him from the shadows, he yelps and drops his coffee immediately, scrambling from the room as fast as possible.

 

“HAJIME, HOLY SHIT HELP ME!” he screams, barely outside the door when Iwaizumi appears, knife at the ready. Konoha ducks behind him in an instant. “I swear to fucking _god_ , I saw Owl Eyes in there, I don’t know how or why, but I _do_ know how he got his name, Jesus Christ.”

 

Iwaizumi tenses when Bokuto slips from the room, hands in the air as a peace offering. “I’m not here to cause you any harm,” Bokuto assures them in a low voice. Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow.

 

“And yet here you are, speaking quietly so as not to draw attention to your presence,” Iwaizumi accuses.

 

“No offense,” Bokuto counters, frowning, “but your little friend there kind of alerted the entire building with his racket.”

 

“But if you’re not here to harm us or our organization, then why did you sneak in, and what the hell do you want?” Konoha hisses.

 

“I want to save Keiji,” Bokuto says. Iwaizumi and Konoha exchange glances.

 

“What makes you say that?” Iwaizumi asks slowly.

 

“I witnessed him being captured by the very same organization I abandoned this morning,” Bokuto explains carefully. “And I want to get him back before they break him.”

 

“Last I saw, he was shooting at Akaashi,” Konoha said to Iwaizumi. “This smells like a trap.”

 

“Prove yourself,” Iwaizumi demands with a nod, raising his knife.

 

Bokuto shrugs weakly and gestures to his shirt. Konoha’s brow furrows, and then his eyes widen. “Wait, but that’s the gag gift we gave Akaashi a few years back…why do you have it?”

 

“Mine was dirty,” Bokuto replies with a raised eyebrow.

 

Both of the men groan in realization. “ _Fuck_ , Akaashi, you really did have a thing for him,” Iwaizumi complains. “Why _him_?”

 

“I know Nekoma’s base inside out. If you tag team with me, Iwaizumi, we could get Konoha into the control room and he could guide me to Keiji while you hold the personnel hostage,” Bokuto explains.

 

Iwaizumi huffs. “I don’t like it. I don’t like that you know our names. I don’t like _you_.”

 

“On my word,” Bokuto begs, desperation leaking into his voice.

 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Thank your lucky stars that you appealed to me and Konoha, not Akaashi. He would shoot you down for saying that.” Lowering the knife, Iwaizumi glares at Bokuto. “Don’t make me regret my decision to trust you.”

 

“Just hurry,” Bokuto insists.

 

\-------------------------

 

When they kick down the door to the control room, they are both completely unexpected and completely unopposed. Kuroo’s ‘what the fu—’ halts mid-word when he sees Bokuto among the invading party. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open, but Bokuto doesn’t spare him a single word beside his instructions to “sit down, shut up, and do as you’re told so you aren’t killed” before Konoha goes to work. He scans the cameras until he finds Akaashi, a small noise of distress coming from him before he can stop it.

 

Bokuto leans over him while Iwaizumi eyes Kuroo and the main tech of the control room, Kenma, who hadn’t looked up from his game since the door was kicked open. Akaashi's bound to a chair, not completely torn up, but definitely with wounds that Bokuto didn’t put there himself. He’s slumped forward and apparently unconscious. Bokuto grunts. “I’m going to need some doors opened for me, but other than that, I can get to him fairly easily. Tetsu, what’s the passcode to Keiji’s containment room?”

 

Kuroo looks a little green. “Kou, why are you doing th—”

 

“Just tell me, Tetsu,” Bokuto orders, his voice tired and sad. _It’s not you I wanted to betray, my best and oldest friend, never you. It’s them. The ones who used me for the secretive purposes and snatched Keiji away from me._

 

“…493581,” Kuroo replies after a moment, never breaking eye contact with Bokuto.

 

“Thank you,” Bokuto whispers, squeezing Kuroo’s shoulder in an attempt to make him understand just how sorry Bokuto was that it had come to this. And then he was gone down the hallway, the _psshhpp_ of tranqs hitting their marks echoing back to the control room.

 

“Akaashi Keiji was his mission,” Kuroo says, voice cracking a little. “He was just someone Koutarou was assigned seduce and bring back to headquarters. So why…”

 

“That’s what you’d call ‘being compromised’,” Konoha chirps from in front of the computers, eyes still trained on the screens, tracking Bokuto’s swift movements towards the center of the base, occasionally issuing warnings or instructions.

 

Iwaizumi hums in agreement. “Maybe you shouldn’t have messed with our prize sniper and good friend. Doesn’t your director know not to break the trust of their agents? That’s the one thing we can rely on, after all.”

 

Kuroo makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, slumping back into his chair and watching the screens along with the other two.

 

\---------------------------

 

“Konoha, I’m one hallway down from him,” Bokuto says slowly and softly to avoid making his presence known. “Keep an eye out for backup on the way. I’m sure Keiji’s cell has a silent alarm or something attached to it. They’ll be alerted to the break-in and his escape, if they haven’t already.”

 

Bokuto keeps low to the ground when he ducks around the corner, firing one shot that hits cleanly and another that is avoided with a shout. He charges the remaining guard, glad to see that he doesn’t recognize the grunt. He puts up a pitiful fight against Bokuto’s superior skill and strength, and dies with a snapped neck and a look of horror on his face. Bokuto shakes out his hands before tapping in the code to Akaashi's cell. The door clicks open, and Bokuto steps in lightly.

 

Once his eyes set on Akaashi he runs to him, running hands and eyes all over his body, furiously checking him for serious injuries and signs of torture. He’d relieved to find that Akaashi has only been kicked around a bit, cut a little, and judging from the massive bruise on his head, knocked out by smashing his head against something. That last bit has Bokuto concerned.

 

“No fatal injuries, nothing too bad overall, save for the definite possibility that he could have a concussion—he was violently knocked out,” Bokuto reports to Konoha.

 

There’s a sigh of relief in response. “ _Thank god. Okay, well, hurry on to escape point B, there’s a relatively large force coming to stop you from the other way._ ”

 

Bokuto pulls out a knife and frees Akaashi, catching him as he slumps into Bokuto’s arms. He picks up Akaashi's limp form, cradling him more gently than was probably necessary, but there it was again. That warm feeling of soft and white in his chest that Akaashi made him feel. It was protective and innocent and something Bokuto wasn’t sure a murderer like himself could still feel.

 

“I’m getting you out of here,” Bokuto whispers to Akaashi and takes off down the escape route he’d established with Konoha and Iwaizumi prior to the infiltration.

 

Back in the control room, Iwaizumi breathes a sigh of relief. “Alright Konoha, he’ll make it out in time. We’re the ones that have to get going.”

 

There’s a sad smile on Konoha’s face. “You know how slim that possibility is, right? They’re converging on us as we speak.” Iwaizumi sighs in response.

 

“I’ll help you.”

 

Even Kenma blinks and looks up at that. Kuroo stares at Iwaizumi and Konoha with complete seriousness. “Put on those uniforms over there; I’ll help you escape. Kou trusted you for a reason—he can be a real idiot sometimes, but I believe that he would never do something as serious as betraying Nekoma without a helluva good reason to do so. Also, you could have killed me or Kenma at any point, but spared us in the end. I will return the favor.”

 

Iwaizumi and Konoha nod their assent and pull on the uniforms hanging in the corner of the control room. Kuroo gets up and puts a hand on Kenma’s head, expression unreadable. “You’ll buy us some time, won’t you Kenma?”

 

Kenma only hazards a glance up at Kuroo for a moment before turning back to his DS. “You already know the answer to that. And don’t get all sentimental on me—if I can find Keiji-kun anywhere in the world, I can certainly find someone as conspicuous as you, Kuroo.” Kuroo has to grin at that.

 

“I never should have doubted you.”

 

Kuroo leads the party of three out the control room door, but not before Konoha pauses to stare at Kenma. “Nekoma’s master hacker and cyber-spy…” he murmurs in awe. Kenma ducks his head, embarrassed.

 

“Come _on_ , Konoha. No fangirling over your idol during our escape attempt.”

 

\----------------

 

Bokuto is well into the woods by the time Nekoma figures out that he’s left the building. He’s far enough out that when the hounds finally track his scent down, the rest of Akaashi's rescue party will have picked them up and they’ll be long gone to Konoha’s safehouse.

 

In his arms, Akaashi stirs.

 

“Konoha…san…?” His voice murmurs sleepily. Painfully.

 

“Konoha and Iwaizumi will be here soon. For now it’s just us two,” Bokuto replies.

 

Akaashi goes stiff in his arms and Bokuto comes to a halt, concerned. “Keiji?”

 

In a split second, Akaashi goes from statue to live wire, jerking himself free of Bokuto’s hold and landing crouched like a cat. He stumbles slightly on the landing, swaying in place, and Bokuto takes a step towards him, now fairly certain that Akaashi had a concussion. “Kei—”

 

_“Stop calling me that!”_

 

Akaashi's voice cracks in the middle of his yell and he winces, more at the pain it caused than anything else. He looks so hurt—physically and emotionally—and Bokuto _knows_ what this must look like, how confusing it must be. Akaashi is scared and betrayed. The first time he actually opens up and decides trust another of his kind, he ends up like this. His limbs are shaking and a few of his wounds have opened up from his reckless struggling.

 

“This isn’t what it appears to be, please, listen t—”

 

Akaashi launches himself forward, plowing into and then past Bokuto’s side, snatching his knife from its sheath. He’s panting and wild-eyed but holding the knife as if he means to use it. And he does. Bokuto feels the chilling cold enter his bones, accompanied by the slow throb of adrenaline. That’s what it feels like to face his death—ice piercing every atom in his body and the desperate attempt of his hormones to force him to move, escape, survive.

 

Akaashi slams him against a tree, teeth bared. “I’m done listening to you, Bokuto-san,” he whispers. The knife bites at Bokuto’s flesh, the same place Akaashi had bitten him with teeth hard on his neck, mouthing _Koutarou, Koutarou, Koutarou_ into his skin as he rode him, thighs shaking, earlier that morning. Bokuto smiles.

 

“Then just do it. Your allies will be here soon enough to pick you up. This my fault; I will pay the price. I broke your trust.”

 

Akaashi digs the blade deeper into his neck, blood running down in a steady trickle from the cut. Bokuto flinches, closing his eyes and making a pained noise. His fingers curl into fists, trembling with the effort it took not to resist. Akaashi's grip around the handle turns his knuckles white.

 

“Resist me, Bokuto-san.”

 

“No.”

 

“Resist.”

 

“I can’t do that.”

 

Akaashi slams his other hand against the bark next to Bokuto’s head. “Have some sense of self-preservation, for god’s sake! Don’t you understand that I’m going to kill you? Fight me, stop me, do _something_.” He has to turn away, pained.

 

“Stop making me feel like the one who’s done wrong,” he whispers.

 

Bokuto uncurls one fist to press his hand against Akaashi's side. He receives a vicious flinch in response, but he spreads his fingers out along Akaashi's shirt, feeling how cold he is. “I’m sorry. I never wanted anything like this to happen to you.”

 

“Then why,” Akaashi grinds out, “did you betray me to your organization after trusting me—after I trusted you?”

 

“I was set up,” Bokuto murmurs. “They used my interest in you to guide me towards leaving you open to attack. And then, when the moment was right, they struck without telling me of their plans.”

 

Akaashi is already shaking his head. “I can’t believe that. It’s all too easy—do you expect me to just let you off the hook, forgive you, accept that you betrayed your employers all for my sake?”

 

“No,” Bokuto replies softly, other hand mirroring the first. “No, that’s not…” He pushes off from the tree gently, Akaashi moving backwards just enough so that he didn’t slice Bokuto’s neck open. Akaashi curls into himself, defensive.

 

“I don’t want you to forgive me so easily. I just want you to give me a chance to prove myself again. Let me be at your side—protector, partner, I don’t care. I want you to trust me again.”

 

Akaashi laughs, mean and hurting. It’s the first time Bokuto’s heard it, and it breaks something inside of him. “Trust you? Again?”

 

And then he freezes, because isn’t that what Bokuto said to him last night, full of honest hope and something warm Akaashi dare not name? Could he really have been lying so well to fake every shudder and moan, every stuttered pant of Akaashi's name, every look of boyish dreaminess that was so unfitting of his profession and every dark, hungry look that was? _Again, Keiji, again. Alright, alright. Once more._ The knife falls from his hand.

 

“I don’t trust you, I won’t; you smell like blood, it’s so thick that I can never forget who you are and what you do. I won’t trust you ever,” Akaashi asserts, but Bokuto pulls him close anyway.

 

“That’s okay,” Bokuto murmurs. “That’s all okay, I understand.”

 

Akaashi shakes his head and tries to draw away, but Bokuto’s hands migrate to his cheeks, forcing Akaashi to look at him, to see the sincerity on his face. “I’ll earn it again, somehow.”

 

Bokuto kisses Akaashi's forehead, his nose, the side of his mouth, below his eye, before finally settling on his lips, chaste and soft. He draws away after a long moment, Akaashi leaning forward to follow him, hands moving to touch Bokuto’s elbows. Bokuto kisses him again, longer this time, and when he draws away once more, pulling Akaashi's lip with him, Akaashi shudders.

 

“…Follow me then. Once more.”

 

Bokuto nods and pulls Akaashi into his chest, holding him tightly, blood smearing on the side of Akaashi's face and neck, but it’s ashen and earthy in scent, no trace of the metallic flash of the weapons that divided them. He holds up the hand with a neat, scarred hole through it, and Bokuto’s breath catches.

 

“Is that where…?”

 

Akaashi nods. “I never stopped thinking of you, after that day.”

 

“Does it hurt you?”

 

“Sometimes. But maybe it was a sign that our lives were twined together, from the beginning.”

 

“We’ll match, when this heals.”

 

Akaashi exhales lightly. _A scar for me and a scar for him. This is probably a mistake._ He looks up at Bokuto's strong profile, owl eyes scanning the woods for friend or foe, whoever might come. _...Might as well see this one through the end._

 

When the rest of the rescue party finds them, they are bloody and inseparable, eyeing the others warily until Akaashi recognizes Konoha and his shoulders slump in relief. "Konoha-san," he murmurs.

 

Konoha jogs over to him, taking him from Bokuto and looking him over, tutting over his state and the blood all over his right side. He goes a little pale when Akaashi gestures to Bokuto's neck.

 

"Are you really okay?" Konoha asks, eyes flickering to Bokuto, immersed in conversation with Iwaizumi, frowning.

 

"You were right when you said taking that mission was a mistake, Konoha-san," Akaashi replies. "But...I think you and Iwaizumi-san might have also been right about trusting those who smell of blood."

 

Akaashi's glance back at Bokuto is conflicted and affectionate, but all Konoha can do is smile because it's been some time since Akaashi has cared so much about something or someone enough to be conflicted about them. "I'm always right," he declares, earning himself a playful jab in the gut and a 'please don't lie to yourself, Konoha-san' from Akaashi.

 

"Well whatever, he can transfer over to Fukurodani and we'll see if we can't make an ally of him and that other one," Konoha huffs.

 

"Other one?" Akaashi blinks at him. Konoha opens his mouth to reply, but Bokuto cuts him off.

 

"Tetsu?" Soft and hopeful.

 

Akaashi recognizes the man with wild black hair and long-limbed grace from several missions. He looks at Bokuto like a lost brother, and they embrace tightly. _Ah, his tech partner,_ Akaashi concludes. They don't let go of each other for a while, and Bokuto looks revived when they part.

 

"Tetsurou, did you...?"

 

Kuroo grins slyly. "Couldn't leave my best bro out in the cold now, could I? You'd be clueless without me." Bokuto punches him in the shoulder.

 

They pile into the truck, Iwaizumi driving and Kuroo in the front seat, while Konoha treats the wounds of the other two. As they speed off, Akaashi allows his head to drop against Bokuto's shoulder, and Bokuto runs a hand along the top of Akaashi's thigh soothingly.

 

Konoha rolls his eyes and hides a smile. "Gross," he mutters to the pair, who return the insult with small, sleepy smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> before u ask why 'marrito' let me explain u a thing

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It's Nothing Personal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477553) by [boy_boy_doggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boy_boy_doggins/pseuds/boy_boy_doggins)




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